Crumbs (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

Cravings

A/N: Thank you for all the amazing support for Crumbs.  I can't begin to say how much it means to me. Every comment that makes me laugh, or has a suggestion or something truly encouraging to say sticks with me.

Special thanks to @MClaireW for her hilarious suggestion for one of Charlie's curse word.  And huge thanks to my proof reader, @vintagehouse, for always dropping everything to read, and for giving me her honest opinion. Love ya!  Here we go....

Tom’s statement makes me nearly stop breathing.  Okay, I know he’s a good friend, scratch that, he’s an amazing friend.  But there is a fierceness to his voice that makes me want to sort of curl up into myself.  I am terrified of sounding like a complete and utter idiot, so I refrain from saying anything.  There are few people who can render me speechless, and this son of a batch of cookies is one of them.

“Thank you for the offer, but you’re too pretty for prison.” I say with a short laugh, finally.  I’m proud of myself for making a joke.  Proud that I didn’t just burst into tears, or start ugly crying on his shirt.  He doesn’t laugh though, even though I know it was pretty funny.  Tom tilts his head slightly, and then licks his lips.

“Always making jokes, Charles.  Always.” His voice is low and gravelly.  I stop mid laugh.

“I’m funny.” I say dumbly.  He nods, lifting a finger to his lips.  I watch as he traces his mouth, ever so slowly. 

“You are. But this isn’t funny.  And you think you can change the subject by laughing your way out of it.” His words sink deep into my skin.  I bite my lip, and reach down to fiddle with the lacy hem at the bottom of my pajama pants.  I’ve worn these so much that the lace has sort of frayed a bit at the end, from where it drags on the floor.  The eternal struggle of being short.

“Laughing is better than crying.  Laughing isn’t bad.” I say, feeling a lump form in my throat.  He nods.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you try to come back here all on your own? Without any support?” Tom asks, his voice stern. Hello, Captain Pushy and Demanding. 

“Pushhhy—“ I start to crack a joke, but then Tom reaches over and slides his big hand gently over my mouth, quieting me and also making me slobber on him a little bit.  He doesn’t seem to care.  I squirm and swat his arm away, but he holds fast, pushing his other hand through the hair at the back of my head and holding me tight.  He leans forward, his eyes intense.

“Don’t do that, Charlie.  It’s just you and me here.  I want you to talk to me.  Don’t feed me jokes and rubbish.” He’s barely touching me now, but one hand is still hovering by my mouth, and one is at the back of my head.  I take a deep breath.

“Do you trust me? Or am I totally misinformed about the nature of our relationship…of our friendship?” He asks quietly.  I shake my head slowly, barely.  I didn’t want to feel like an idiot before, but I sort of feel like one now.  He makes things so simple sometimes.  So heartbreakingly simple.

I reach up, and take his hand in mine, slowly lowering it away from my face.  I take a minute to gather my hectic, racing thoughts. 

“I didn’t tell you because I thought I could handle it.  I’m strong. I’m not afraid of Chase.” Even as I’m speaking, I know I’m lying.  Just a little bit.  I stop, and correct myself.  “I am afraid of Chase…but I still thought I would be in and out of Maryland in no time.  I didn’t think I’d even have to see him.  I’m afraid of him, but I know he can’t really hurt me.  Not anymore.” My voice catches and I pause.

“When you came to LA five years ago, was that directly after he hurt you?” Tom asks. 

“Yes. I met you three weeks after the fight.  Two weeks after I’d moved to LA.”